Long Time Coming
by uhpockuhlipz
Summary: Santana comes out to her father after being caught in a not-quite-friendly position with her best friend. brittana. Kind of angsty but not really. Quinn's in there too...


They're drunk.

It's a good party and as they did at all good parties, they ended up drinking together until they forgot social acceptability and came together. Well, okay. It wasn't exactly what they always did at parties, but it was what they'd used to do and now it was what they did again. Santana missed it enough that she wasn't quite as drunk as usual when she grabbed the waistband of Brittany's shorts (it would have been the front of her shirt, but the dancer had already lost it somewhere) and fused their mouths together. The usual hoots and hollers followed, but Santana didn't hear them. She was smiling into the kiss, a gasp breaking through when she felt a warm tongue swipe over her lips.

It went on for longer than it usually did, continued past where it usually ended. Nimble fingers slid into her back pockets and Santana gladly pressed closer, her thigh slipping between Brittany's as they moved together on the dance floor. There was a low moan and she wasn't sure which of it had come from, but it didn't matter. It was fucking hot. "Let's go to my place," she breathed into her best friend's mouth, perfectly filed nails tracing the contours of toned abs as she fought to control her breathing.

"Mmm." Brittany smirked, an expression she only ever wore when she was drunk. She was too sweet sober to manage it- even drunk, it only appeared with Santana, and only when she knew she had her best friend right where she wanted her. Right now was one of those moments- she wanted her in her pants and Santana was all too willing to dive right in. The blonde stole one last kiss before pulling away, walking out of the party with her hips swaying. They had a no-leaving-together rule. It made it too obvious and obvious was against everything she stood for. Tonight, though, was a particular struggle for her to stand still. Dark eyes followed those swaying hips until they were disappearing out the back door. Then she turned and marched through the crowd and out the front. She hadn't even managed thirty seconds' wait time, let alone the two minutes she usually forced herself to take. The thing was that it was taking more and more of an effort not to just… _be_ with Brittany. Every day the struggle to stay away was harder than the day before. It wasn't fair.

They met up at the corner of the darkened street, nothing on their minds but one another. No one else was outside. The night was chilly, snow threatening, and the street light at the corner had gone out weeks ago with no one bothering to replace it. It was under these circumstances that the drunken girls didn't think twice of coming together forcefully, bodies fused, fitted like puzzle pieces as they crushed their mouths together and let hungry hands explore. It had always been like this between them- the flash, the heat, the desire. It came in different forms, but it was always there. Santana felt it increase as a hand dipped under the bottom of her dress, slid up to caress the skin of her inner thigh. "Fuck," she gasped, hips jerking forward in search of friction even as her hands eased Brittany's shoulders back. "H-hold on, B. Let's juss… C'n we get back t'my house first?"

The first snowflakes began to fall and Santana was shivering… but it wasn't from the cold.

They stumbled into her house with some difficulty, mostly because they were both unwilling to pull away hands or lips for more than a few seconds at a time. It was hard to fit a key in a door and open it when you were simultaneously trying to work your hand up under the shirt your best friend was once again wearing. Tan fingers had just worked their way under the cup of Brittany's bra when she at last managed to get the door open and they stumbled inside with mouths still fused. Shockingly coordinated for a drunk, Santana spun them and shoved Brittany's back into the door. It slammed closed under their combined weight and the blonde dancer moaned at the increased focus Santana was suddenly able to give her. "Want you," she panted as Brittany's hands began pushing their way up her dress, struggling to remove her underwear (or at least get beneath them). At least it wasn't in the dark, the Latina thought as she laughed against the skin of Brittany's throat, teeth scraping over skin. Had she left the light on?

"Santana." She froze. The sound of her name said so firmly in a voice that was not all feminine hit her like a bucket of cold water. She yanked away from Brittany then, stared at her with wide, horrified eyes before she slowly turned to face her father. Anxious hands tugged at her dress and combed through her hair to tame it as much as she could manage. Dr. Estevan Lopez stood watching her with that cold, hard look he often wore. His arms were folded across his broad text. He was a big man, one she rarely saw. She hadn't even considered the possibility that he'd be home because he never was, and it was just her luck he would be here tonight of all fucking nights. _You fucking moron, Santana. The lights were on, you should have… _"Are you drunk?" The brunette dropped her gaze. Anyone who saw her now would never associate her with the ruthless Santana Lopez from school. He was the only one who could make her feel this way.

She nodded slowly.

"Brittany, I think you should go home." His voice is icy, tinged with disgust. Santana stiffened and looked briefly back up at him. It had often been like this in the past. For some reason that Santana could not comprehend, Dr. Lopez did not like Brittany. Perhaps he thought her too soft for someone like Santana, who he wanted to grow up to be as ruthless as he was. Perhaps he sensed the underlying emotion in their relationship. The latter would surprise Santana- he didn't know her, let alone her friends. Still, every time he'd come home to find Brittany there, he'd been quick to order her home. They're used to his orders, used to obeying. It was because of this that, despite being blocks from her own home, unsuitably dressed, and exceedingly wasted, Brittany turned to leave.

And for the first time ever, Santana stopped her.

"Don't go." Brittany's blue eyes went wide, dropped to the fingers firmly circling her wrist. She stayed because Santana had never asked her to before, because she loved her, because she was confused and drunk and a little scared of Mr. Lopez's reaction. Because it's new, and Brittany doesn't often get new from Santana. It's been the same for a while. Sure, there were changes, but it always felt like it was one step forward and two steps back with her best friend. The two girls stared at one another, the hulking form of the doctor casting a dark shadow over their faces. Brittany saw the fear and determination on the darker girl's face and so turned her wrist a little, her own fingers circling Santana's and squeezing gently in soft reassurance. She wouldn't go. Not unless San wanted her to. She needed her.

"She is going." He was so cold. God, how could such a harsh man be the father of someone like Santana? Brittany wondered. Sure, there were certain things about Santana that were like him, but she had a soft side that her father just… didn't. "I won't have her leading my daughter down this path."

"No." Santana's voice was firm, commanding. "She's staying."

"Santana Mariana Florentina Lopez." He has a hard voice, hard eyes. His accent thickened his tongue so that Santana's full name flows from it in the musical lilt of his language. When she made Santana say it for her (because she has a thing for the accent the brunette has when she actually speaks Spanish for real instead of to be intimidating), it is beautiful. When Dr. Lopez did it, it sounded petrifying. "What do you think you are you doing?" He wanted her to cower and behave. It shouldn't be that hard for him. It always worked in the past. This time wasn't too different. She looked down, stared at her feet. He intimidated her, made her feel edgy. But she wasn't just scared now- she was angry. She hated how he treated Brittany. A wave of protectiveness has washed over her and she wanted nothing to do but hold Brittany close and make her dad see how important she was. But how could he see that when he couldn't see her? And all the sudden it was too much and she spoke without thinking- or perhaps she spoke because she'd been thinking about it for so fucking long.

"Her." She mumbled it, voice barely audible. Dr. Lopez was staring at her like he hadn't quite heard, or maybe more like he was hoping he'd heard wrong. Brittany hadn't. The word reached her clearly and she couldn't help but stare, eyes wide and startled. Around Santana's wrist, pale fingers tightened slightly. Santana was shaking now, but she held on, determined to go through with this.

"Excuse me? Do not mumble, Santana." But he was really saying, _don't say what you just said again or there will be trouble._

"Her." Santana's voice was shaky, but firm. She looked up at him, her trademark smirk in place. Brittany recognized her false confidence and licked her lips nervously, fingers squeezing again. Neither of them were sure if it was supportive or a warning. Still, Santana pressed on. She wanted this out, wanted it done. And despite the reaction she could tell she was getting, she felt so much fucking _better. _She was so fucking sick of hiding it all. "I'm doing _her. _Don't point fingers. I'm the one who had her pressed into the door, _papi. _Not the other way around."

"You're drunk." He doesn't believe her. He doesn't get it.

"I'm gay."

_Smack_!

There is a shocked silence. The sound of the slap seemed to reverberate off the walls, echoing in the small entryway of Santana's living room. Then, "Get out!" Brittany thought he was talking to her again, commanding now, ordering her out. She looked up with panicked eyes, but he wasn't looking at her. His dark eyes were on his daughter. There isn't fury. They're chips of black ice, the kind Brittany had slipped on once when she was eight because she couldn't see it on the pavement of her driveway. It was the worst kind of ice. The deadliest kind. Santana seemed shocked. She didn't respond, was staring at her father as her cheek darkened from the slap. When a minute passed and there was no response, he raised his hand for another slap.

And Brittany stepped forward, stepped between them, to grip his wrist and stop him from striking. "Enough." She was quiet, but her grip was strong. "We're going."

And then they were turning from the house, Brittany's arm firm around Santana's waist as they stumbled towards the sidewalk. Santana couldn't breathe. She'd just been kicked out. She'd just been kicked out of her house by her father because of what she was. _Who _she was. Santana never… _never _let people step on her or fucking keep her down. She didn't know what it was like to lose, what it was like to be hated. Well, okay, she did. But that was stuff she wanted to be hated for, stuff that improved her image as head bitch. This was…. Not that. And suddenly she was standing in the snow in an inappropriately short dress, shivering and homeless and absolutely terrified. Why couldn't her dad be like Kurt's? Why couldn't he say something like "That doesn't change who you are, Santana" or "I've known since you were four and you played Wedding with Brittany all the time" or "I still love you, Santana."

_Get out. Get out. Get out. _

A sob choked her, tore from her throat as she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to hold it together. Brittany's arms surrounded her as well, gathered her close, drew her in. "Baby," she cooed, rocking Santana gently, lips softly tracing every curve of the Latina's features as the tears poured down them. "Sanny. Santana. It's okay. Shh, baby, it's okay." It was funny because they're both drunk, and usually Santana cried when she was drunk anyway, but this was so much different. It was funny because they both knew. They could both tell that it was different. Kisses continued to rain over Santana's face as they shivered together.

When Quinn pulled up, Santana wasn't surprised. She couldn't remember Brittany making a call, but she must have because the pink-haired ex-Cheerio was there. And even though they hadn't really been friends since Quinn's whole just-call-me-Q-the-rebel thing kicked in, she parked at the curb and motioned for them to get in. Brittany urged Santana into the back seat and then climbed in after her, arms drawing her close. Quinn spared them a single glance in the rear view mirror before cranking the heat and pulling away from the Lopez house.

Silence.

They were three very different girls at three very different stages in their lives, and yet here they all were again, drawn together by yet another crisis. Brittany looked up over Santana's head, blue eyes meeting hazel in the mirror. There were tears glittering there, but such pride as well, and Quinn knew what had changed tonight with just that one look. She offered a quiet, sad smile and looked forward again.

"It gets better," she said firmly into the dragging silence. "It'll be better, Santana."

"For both of you," Brittany added with a soft smile, her cheek nuzzling Santana's dark hair softly.

"For all of us," Santana whispered, and her fingers tangled with Brittany's even as the tears continued to fall.

**I am… really not sure how I feel about this one, but whatever. Wanted to get it out. Blah. **


End file.
